


The night the sky exploded

by AndalusianSunshine



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Day 7, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Prompt:Free Choice, serardweek2k18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndalusianSunshine/pseuds/AndalusianSunshine
Summary: When Sergio and Gerard suddenly find themselves in an alternate universe, forced to stumble through a strange new life together, nothing goes according to plan. (contains two idiots that can't see what's right in front of them, more than one shocking revelation and not a lot of rational decisions)





	The night the sky exploded

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this. The whole idea was never even supposed to turn into a fic, let alone one this long. It started out as nothing but a joke between me and londonbird almost five months ago while we were discussing fic ideas for serard week and then suddenly it developed a life of its own, took over my life and demanded to be written.
> 
> Enjoy this figment of my erratic mind :)
> 
> Title borrowed from _Unstoppable_ by Paperwhite.

Sergio drills the ball into the net with so much force that the goal post rattles. The stadium is empty, the lights are off and he really should be in the dressing room, showering and talking to his teammates, making sure that Cris is alright, but he’s too angry to face anyone without snapping at them. Things weren’t supposed to go like this, they should have fought more, scored more, defended better. But if he’s completely honest with himself he doesn’t really know what they should have done. Just...more.

He smacks another ball into the net, ignores the pain in his right foot from kicking out too hard. If only he could have finished his _conversation_ with Gerard, could have told him exactly what he thought of him, maybe he wouldn’t feel so restless, so impossibly angry, but Lucas and Marcelo had pulled him away, stopped him before he could do more damage than could be repaired later. He hates responsibility sometimes, hates that he can’t just do whatever he wants.

The foul keeps playing over and over in his mind, blinding him while he gathers the balls out of the net to start another round of useless freekicks. In his mind Cristiano crumbles to the ground again and again, face scrunched in pain and a panicked hand around his ankle and he feels so helpless, his heart clenched in fear for his friend. The game had just felt like a nuisance after that.

Foot already extended, he’s about to fire another shoot into the empty goal when a crack of thunder echos in the distance and his vision goes wide.

The ball soars over the goal and lands pathetically in the stands.

*

Meanwhile in the visitor’s dressing room, Gerard is tiredly unlacing his shoes, his mind still reeling from his confrontation with Sergio. He’d never seen such a fury in the other man’s eyes, such a hatred towards anyone and he hadn’t meant to go into the tackle this hard, he definitely hadn’t intended for Cristiano to get injured. Surely Sergio must understand that, it’s just what happens sometimes, a mistimed tackle, a challenge that’s just a little too rough, but never intentional, never intended to cause any pain. Yet Sergio’s eyes had held no understanding when he shoved him against the cold stonewall, his right hand already balled into a fist, ready to punch at a moments notice. There was no compassion, no understand in his friend’s eyes and he’s not sure if they’re even friends anymore.

Suddenly there’s a white flash of light, blinding Gerard and then there’s...nothing.  
\-----

Sergio wakes up with a pounding headache. He rolls around in the sheets, trying to go back to sleep, but suddenly he bumps into something solid and warm. His eyes fly open and he almost screams. 

Gerard Piqué is lying right next to him, sound asleep.

Hesitantly he lifts a corner of the blanket, almost afraid to look. He gasps in shock when he finds them both dressed in nothing but underwear.

“Gerard,” he yells, shaking the other man until he finally stirs with a tired groan. “Wake up.”

“What’s going on,” he blinks his eyes open, only then recognizing Sergio and he frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“You tell me,” Sergio snarls. “I wish i’d never have to see your face again.”

“Are you seriously still angry about that tackle?” Gerard sighs.

“Damn right I am,” Sergio’s eyes are blazing. “You could have broken his leg.”

Gerard groans tiredly. “Don’t you think we have bigger issues right now. Like why we’re in bed together?”

“I’m…,” Sergio deflates visibly. “Do you think we had sex?” he asks and he’s barely able to keep the panic out of his voice.

Gerard studies him thoughtfully. “Does your ass hurt?”

“No, why?” Sergio splutters until his tired brain catches up and his eyes widen comically. “Why would you assume i’d be the one…” he asks indignantly.

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Because i can feel mine and it doesn’t hurt, so…”

“Right.”

“You’re an idiot,” Gerard laughs and climbs out of bed. “but seriously man, what are you doing in my bed.”

He reaches for his sweatpants and suddenly two things become abundantly clear: He’s not in his own house and the pants he’s holding have the Atletico Madrid crest on it.

“Sergio?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you own Atleti merchandise?”

“I don’t.”

Gerard holds up the pants. “What is this then?”

Sergio shrugs. “How would i know. This is your house.”

“It isn’t,” Gerard’s brows furrow in confusion. “i thought it was yours…” he walks over to the window and looks out onto a completely foreign street. “Where the fuck are we?” He’s starting to get the feeling that something has gone very terribly wrong.

It doesn’t take long until Sergio joins him at the window. He takes a quick look around and immediately recognizes the street he lives on, just from a very different angle. “We’re in Madrid,” he says.

“But not your house?”

“No.”

“This is weird. What in the world is going on?”

Sergio shrugs. “I have no idea.”

Just then the alarm clock on the nightstand starts blaring noisily. Sergio throws himself across the bed to turn if off, because _shit_ the thing is loud and his head is still pounding. He almost laughs when he reads the note on the display.

 _No training today_. Why would anyone even set and alarm for that instead of just sleeping in?” he chuckles.

“I would.” 

“I thought this wasn’t your house?”

“It isn’t.”

“This makes no sense.” Sergio wanders over to what looks like the door to a walk-in closet and he’s not disappointed when it opens to an impressive collection of clothes. 

“Wow,” he whistles appreciatively, because there is quite a lot of stuff in there he would love to wear and whoever owns the house must have great taste. There is however also a frightening amount of Atletico Madrid training gear.

“What is it with all the Atleti shit?” Sergio cringes.

“What do you mean?” Gerard steps into the room beside him. “Oh god,” he shudders. “This is giving me a headache,” he squints at the colorful display in front of him before he turns towards Sergio. “It’s how i always imagined your closet,” he cackles.

Sergio scrunches his face and grabs himself a non offending t-shirt before he ventures back into the bedroom, Gerard following closely behind. They both settle on the bed, curious eyes scanning the unfamiliar room.

Sergio suddenly feels very lost.

 

“What’s the last thing you remember before you woke up?” Gerard asks after they’ve been quiet for a while. Sergio startles violently.

“Jesus,” he takes a deep steadying breath while he tries to recall last night’s events. “I was out on the pitch doing free kicks. Then there was a bright flash of white light and then i woke up here.” And suddenly memories of the previous night rush back into his mind. The game, the tackle, the fight afterwards and just like that all the anger Sergio felt comes rushing back in full force.

“You were a fucking idiot last night. You should have been sent off. The least you could have done was apologize afterwards.” he grits out, venom dripping from his voice, but Gerard is hardly listening, his face white as a sheet.

“Sergio,” he says weakly. “i saw the white light too.”

“Oh.” Sergio blinks in surprise. 

“And just so you know, I’m sorry Cris got hurt. I would never deliberately injure anyone on purpose and you should really know that.”

“I do,” Sergio says contritely. “It’s just…,” he shrugs. “I needed someone to blame, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just forget about it.” Gerard leans back and stares at the ceiling, eyes tracing the small cracks in the light green paint. “So, what do you think happened to us?”

Sergio turns to look at Gerard and there’s really only one thing he can think of that would even remotely make sense. “We got sent to an alternate reality?”

“Alternate what?”

“Alternate reality,” Sergio repeats slowly. “You know like in those Hollywood movies. Two people get into a fight and then the universe puts them somewhere else so they can figure their shit out,” he explains patiently.

Gerard snorts. “i’m not gonna use bad Hollywood movies as reference for my life.”

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“Not really.” 

Sergio grins triumphantly. “See. At least we didn’t switch bodies.”

“Awesome,” Gerard grumbles. “What do you propose we do now?”

Sergio swings himself out of bed, suddenly full of energy now that he has a plan. “Now we figure out as much about our new selves as possible.”

 

Gerard is the one who eventually finds the laptop and they spend a couple of agonizing minutes waiting for the thing to boot and google to load. After that it doesn’t take long until they’ve figured out most of their lives. They’re both still footballers, both still equally famous. The only difference now is that they both play for Atletico Madrid.

“Fuck.”

Gerard suddenly feels sick to his stomach and Sergio looks equally nauseous.

For lack of anything better to do and mostly to keep himself busy he keeps on reading article after article trying not to freak out over what his life is like now.

Meanwhile Sergio, never having been particularly good at sitting still, starts rifling through the house in search of more clues about their lives, calm and collected and seemingly not at all bothered by the shocking revelation, but maybe Gerard thinks, he’s just better at hiding his emotions than he expected.

 

Sergio finds a cell phone lying around on the coffee table and when the screen lights up with a picture of a galloping horse, he figures it must be his. He presses his thumb down on the home button, breathing a sigh of relief when it unlocks with its tell-tale click. 

The screen flickers to life and .. he gulps in surprise ... the picture in front of his eyes is really nothing like what he was expecting. It doesn’t take him all that long to figure out it’s not him, but that realization leads to another million questions racing in his head.

He stomps back up the stairs to the bedroom, phone still in hand and shoves it under Gerard’s nose.

“Is that yours?” he asks.

Gerard looks at the pic, his cheeks instantly turning crimson. “Yes?” He croaks.

Sergio frowns. “And why exactly do i have a picture of your dick on my phone?”

Gerard sighs deeply. “I think i have an explanation for that,” he reaches for a picture frame on the desk in front of him. He’s found it a while ago and had been contemplating ever since if he should even show it to Sergio.

“Look at this,” he says and thrusts the frame at Sergio, watches as his eyes slowly widening in shock, realization, utter disbelief.

“Does that mean….? Are we…? Sergio stutters, fingers shaking slightly as he stares at the picture of Gerard and him on some tropical beach , both dressed in swim shorts, their arms slung around each other and they’re...kissing.

Sergio sags onto the bed with a tired groan. “And i thought this day couldn’t get any worse.”

“What are we gonna do now?”

“No idea,” Sergio shrugs helplessly. “Try not to draw attention and wait until we switch back?”

*

Sergio tries to avoid Gerard for the rest of the day. It’s hard enough trying to deal with the fact that his whole life has suddenly changed, even without the constant reminder that in this universe he’s also apparently in a relationship with his biggest rival.

It’s already past midnight when he runs out of reasons to hide and they bump into each other on their way to bed.

“I’m gonna sleep in the guest room,” Sergio declares just as Gerard is about to slide under the covers.

“Turn off the light on your way out, please.”

 

When the door creaks open ten minutes later, Gerard has already dozed off. He reluctantly opens one eye and almost laughs at Sergio’s disgruntled expression as he trudges back into the room. 

“What kind of house doesn’t have a guest room?” he complains, leaning against the doorframe. “We’re rich. Why didn’t we buy a bigger house?”

“Because no one needs five bedrooms when they only ever use one.”

“Guess you picked the house then,” Sergio grumbles and turns away. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

“Or you could just sleep here,” Gerard offers. “The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Sergio hovers on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure?”

“Dude, you’ve slept in much smaller beds with other guys before.”

“But that was different,” Sergio says quietly, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Different how?”

“I wasn’t dating any of them.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “You’re not dating me either. We’re still us and the last time i checked we weren’t.”

“But….”

“Good God, Sergio, will you just shut up and come to bed. I’m dead tired.”

“Fine,” Sergio concedes and crawls into bed. “Just don’t come cuddling up to me in the middle of the night.”

“You wish.” Gerard turns onto his side, facing away from him and five minutes later he’s snoring lightly.

Sergio stares at the ceiling for a long time before he falls asleep.

*

They wake up together, make breakfast together and it doesn’t feel nearly as awkward as Sergio expected. They bicker over which radio station to listen to and Sergio notices with some envy that Gerard’s eggs and ham don’t taste burnt at all.

Everything goes smoothly until they’re in the driveway ready to leave for training.

“Do you think the team knows about us?” Gerard asks, eyeing the various cars in front of them.

“Does it matter?” He’s already nervous enough, having to play for a club he hardly knows anything about, having to train with players he’s only ever known as rivals and suddenly he feels like his 19-year old self again, wide-eyed and trembling with nerves on his way to his first training session with Real Madrid.

Gerard shrugs. “I guess not, but should we take a car together or drive separately?”

“Maybe drive separately, just to be sure?” Sergio scratches his beard.

 

Saúl and Koke are in the parking lot watching them closely when Sergio and Gerard arrive within seconds of each other. 

Koke’s eyes go wide as Sergio exists the shiny red Ferrari.

“You let him drive that thing?” he asks incredulously.

Gerard reaches into his car for his bag, but mostly to buy himself some time. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks eventually, wondering if he’s already giving himself away.

“Because you never do,” Saúl says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You always say that it’s too dangerous and that he can’t be trusted with it.”

Gerard smiles to himself. He’s got a point there, he thinks, even if he would never admit it to Sergio or anyone else. He doesn’t have a death wish.

Koke’s expression suddenly turns thoughtful. “Did you two get into a fight?”

“Why?” Sergio asks, just now having caught up to them. 

“Because in all the years you’ve been together i’ve never seen you arrive separately.”

 _Years_. Sergio mulls that over for a bit. He doesn’t remember when he last had a relationship that lasted for more than a couple of months and a part of him wishes he could just asked them about it without blowing their cover.

“We’re not fighting,” he says instead and on instinct grabs Gerard’s hand, holds onto it tightly as they make their way towards the trainings facility.

Koke and Saúl seem to be temporarily appeased and Sergio tries not to focus on how strange it feels to be holding onto a much bigger hand than his own.

*

Training starts out normal enough. They stick to each other, careful not to raise any suspicions, almost paranoid in watching their new teammates and it works out reasonably well. Until Sergio gets sent to train with the strikers. 

“What’s going on?” he mouthes towards Gerard, but then he’s already too far away and Gerard only shrugs in response.

 

When they finally make it home Sergio is exhausted and Gerard looks equally wrecked, muscles burning from exercises they hadn’t even known existed, from running so much they were half afraid their lungs would fall out. 

Sergio plugs his phone into the speakers in the living room and starts his favorite flamenco playlist before he plops down on the sofa, thankful that this universe’s version of himself shares his taste in music.

Gerard however doesn’t. 

“What the hell is that?” he cringes, eyes wide in horror and palms pressed flat to his ears.

“My favorite song.”

“Turn it off,” Gerard’s expressions is pained. “It makes my head hurt.”

Sergio pouts. “But it helps me relax.”

“Will you at least turn it down then?”

Sergio reluctantly agrees and lays his head back, eyes closed, absorbing the music until he finally feels his body relax. He’s severely tempted to just give in to sleep altogether, but there’s still one mystery waiting to be solved.

He fumbles for his phone, barely managing to catch it when it tumbles off the coffee table.

“Huh?” he blinks at his Wikipedia article, not quite sure if he trusts his eyes.

“What?” Gerard looks up from his book.

“Apparently i’m a striker.”

Gerard laughs. “So you’re SR9 now?”

“Funny.” But then he does scroll up to check his profile again. He snorts when he discovers his squad number. “More like SR7.”

They both chuckle.

“Are you at least any good?” 

“Of course i am,” Sergio declares, but now he’s suddenly scared. What if he isn’t? What if he spends his games on the bench, only serving as a substitute when the other strikers need rest? His hands almost shake as he clicks on _Personal Statistics_ and it’s ridiculous to be this anxious about a bunch of numbers of a life that isn’t even his own, but he doesn’t like being mediocre at anything, no matter what it is. 

When the page finally loads he gasps in relief, face splitting into a bright grin. “I scored 62 goals last season,” he says triumphantly.

What he doesn’t know yet, is that a week later he will make the Ballon d’Or shortlist.

 

Gerard however doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window morosely, so Sergio ignores him and keeps reading about other-Sergio’s achievements. Technically, he thinks, they are also a little bit his own, so he’s allowed to be proud.

 

“Why are you so gloomy all of a sudden?” he asks eventually, studying Gerard out of the corner of his eye. It’s not concern he tells himself, it’s just that he hates uncomfortable silences.

Gerard turns with a heavy sigh. “I’m glad you’re all happy with your new self, but eventually we’re gonna have to figure out how to get back to our reality.”

Sergio’s face falls. “I know.” 

“Any ideas?”

“How should i know?”

“Well, what do your Hollywood movies say?”

“Now you wanna take them seriously?” Sergio huffs.

Gerard shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other clues.”

Sergio thinks long and hard. There are quite a few movies he’s seen on that topic, but nothing seems to fit. They didn’t touch any strange objects, they didn’t switch bodies ...and no, he’s definitely not going there … He shakes his head defeatedly.

“I have no clue.”

*

They play their first official match three days later. It’s an away game and Sergio plays for the full 90 minutes. He doesn’t do half bad even though he doesn’t score. They win 2:0. 

A couple of times during the game his normal instincts kick in and he finds himself tracking back to defend only to realize that he’s way out of position. Koke throws him a confused look once or twice, but thankfully Gerard seems to be the only one who really notices.

He mocks him during halftime, all the way down the tunnel, but then Gerard nearly gets sent off for arguing with the referee and suddenly he doesn’t look so smug anymore.

“Didn’t know you wanted to be like me so badly,” Sergio laughs after the game in the dressing room, escapes to the showers before Gerard can hit him with a wet towel.

They’re both still smiling when Koke and Saúl sit down on either side of them, serious expressions on their faces. Gerard is tying his shoes and Sergio is still dripping from the shower and neither of them is in the mood for an interrogation. 

“ I knew you’re fighting,” Koke says and Sergio barely suppresses a groan.

“We’re not,” Sergio says and it feels like he’s said it for the hundredth time already. If only he could figure out why everyone on the team seems so damn interested in their personal life.

“You’re definitely going through something.” This time it’s Saúl and Sergio bites his tongue and screams internally. Gerard is suddenly very busy with his shoe laces.

“Why do you keep thinking that we’re having problems?” Sergio asks, trying very hard to keep all the exasperation that’s bubbling inside of him out of his voice.

“You didn’t kiss before the game.”

“Why would we..,” he winces when someone kicks his shin, but when he looks over Gerard eyes are steadily fixed on the floor. Sergio rolls his eyes.

“it’s nothing. We just forgot,” he offers weakly. Gerard meanwhile goes into the fakest coughing fit Sergio has ever heard.

Only after a lot of empty assurances that everything in fact couldn’t be better does Sergio manage to get rid of them. And it’s only when they’re completely gone that Gerard dares to looks up his eyes swimming with tears of laughter. “Man, i always knew this team was weird.”

Sergio nods so enthusiastically he promptly manages to get stuck in his t-shirt. Gerard, after laughing for a bit, eventually takes pity on him and pulls the fabric down.

*

When Sergio comes down to breakfast the next morning, there’s a pan of fresh eggs with ham sizzling on the stove, but Gerard is nowhere to be seen. 

He steps closer, eyeing the contents of the pan with concern, but before he can even reach for a spoon, Gerard suddenly appears by his side and swats at him with the newspaper.

“Don’t you dare,” he scolds.

“But..,” Sergio pouts. “I was just trying to help.” 

Gerard snorts. “You do remember yesterday when you tried to help with cooking?”

Sergio’s face falls. “It wasn’t that bad. I just burnt the toast a little.”

“A little? Half the kitchen was covered in smoke” Gerard laughs. He grabs Sergio by the shoulders and maneuvers him towards a chair, drops the latest issue of Marca right in front of him. “Here, read this. I’ll bring you coffee and breakfast in a bit.”

“Thanks.” Sergio’s head is already buried in the slightly crumpled copy. Most of the articles are only generic reviews of last weekend’s games and he skips over them quickly until he stumbles upon an in-depth analysis of Real Madrid’s defense and usually he just skips over articles like this. They never do anything but ruin his mood, but this time his curiosity gets the better of him.

His interest soon turns into irritation however, a deep frown creasing his forehead. One that Gerard notices the moment he steps up to the table with their plates.

“What’s up?”

“This is complete bullshit,” Sergio grumbles, reaching for his mug without looking up. Gerard wordlessly slides it closer to his hand before he can accidentally tip it over and drown the table.

“What is it this time?” Gerard mumbles between bites, digging into his breakfast hungrily.

“Our defending,” Sergio explains, putting the paper away and sliding his plate closer. “They think that we lack concentration, that we aren’t consistent enough and leave too many open spaces,” he waves his fork around angrily. “Have they ever considered that a system like ours doesn’t come with the most solid defense. Half our attack and midfield never tracks back. How are we supposed to close all those supposed holes with only four people? And then of course it’s the defense that gets blamed again. No one ever complains about the lack of goals, but i suddenly have to be in three places at once. It’s like they’ve never watched a football match in their life.”

“But Atletico have barely conceded any goals so far this season?” Gerard asks, more than a little confused by Sergio’s sudden rant.

Sergio rolls his eyes. “Not Atletico. They’re talking about Real Madrid.”

“Oh,” Gerard grins. “You do remember that you don’t play for them in this reality?” He asks, but Sergio only pulls an irritated face. 

“So?” He stuffs a fork filled with eggs into his mouth and chews angrily. “They’re still my team.”

Gerard wisely enough, bites back his laughter. It’s been only five days but he’s already learned that it’s not a good idea to poke an angry or upset Sergio.

 

They finish their breakfast in silence until Gerard pushes his empty plate away and leans back. “Anything else noteworthy in there?” he tips his head towards the paper.

“Only that your team sucks, fifth loss in a row,” Sergio says, already a little calmer than before, now that he’s had some time to cool off.

Gerard doesn’t flinch. “Remind me where your team was again?” he asks teasingly and grabs the paper before Sergio can pull it away. He flips through the pages even though he knows exactly what the answer is. He just likes seeing Sergio squirm. 

“Oh, right, i remember,” he looks up when he’s finally found the league table, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Guess you guys are going for the Europa League next season.”

Sergio throws a balled up paper napkin at him.

*

“Need some help?” Gerard picks up the roll of athletic tape from under the bench and hands it to Sergio. It’s the third time within minutes that the other man has dropped it, not that he’s counting.

“Thanks,” Sergio nods absentmindedly and fumbles with the roll, but his fingers are trembling and he can’t get the end unstuck.

The roll almost falls again but Gerard catches it just in time. “Why are you so nervous?” 

“I’m not,” Sergio insists.

“Just spit it out.” Gerard drops to his knees and begins to wrap the tape around Sergio’s left ankle, figures it’s easier for Sergio to talk if they’re not face to face.

“It’s stupid, really,” Sergio shrugs and glances around the dressing room, at the giant Atletico crest on the floor. “I feel like i’m on enemy territory, like they’re gonna notice any second that i don’t belong and kick me out.”

Gerard chuckles. “Just don’t start singing Hala Madrid and you’ll be fine,” he teases and reaches for another roll of tape, moves on to Sergio’s right ankle when the first one is wrapped nice and tight. 

“Nice,” Sergio pretends to pout. “I pour my heart out to you and you make a joke.” 

“You were being ridiculous. I was just helping out,” Gerard grins and heaves himself to his feet. He throws the two empty rolls of tape into the trash. “Why do you even need so much tape, afraid your ankles are gonna break?” 

Sergio rolls his eyes. “Do you ever quit?” 

“Nope.”

 

They’re in the tunnel with five minutes to go until kick-off, when Gerard appears at Sergio’s side again, leaning close to whisper into his ear.

“But seriously,” he says, picking up on their earlier conversation like there hasn’t been half an hour and an entire warm-up session in between. “Don’t think about the stadium or what jersey you’re wearing, just pretend you’re playing for the national team.”

Sergio looks surprised for a second but then he smiles gratefully. “Thanks.” He looks over Gerard’s shoulder and spots Saúl studying them intently. “Kiss me,” he hisses quietly.

“What?”

“Just kiss me, they’re looking,” Sergio insists, so Gerard leans closer and kisses him. It’s nothing more than a quick, chaste peck, their lips closed and unmoving, but it still feels weird. The angle is off and Sergio’s beard is scratchy against his own, but his lips are plush and warm and way softer than Gerard would have ever expected.

He feels strangely shy when they pull apart, but Sergio is grinning and then someone yells for them to get a move on and any thought of the kiss gets pushed out of his mind by pre-game adrenaline.

*

Sergio is curled on the sofa with today’s copy of Marca when Gerard steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

“Do you ever read anything else?” he asks as he digs around the drawer for a fresh pair of underwear.

“I like to stay informed,” Sergio replies, not even bothering to look up.

“I think a proper newspaper would work better for that,” Gerard quips, but Sergio doesn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes.

“What are you? My mother?” he barks. “Honestly i wonder what other-me even saw in you.”

Gerard startles. Sergio might tease him sometimes, it’s what they both do, but he’s never been intentionally hurtful, at least not since they ended up in their new lives together. “What crawled up your ass today?”

“Nothing.” Sergio keeps his head resolutely buried in the newspaper.

“So, you just randomly like to bite my head off?”

Sergio sighs tiredly and looks up. “Can’t you just leave me alone for once, please?” 

“Fine,” Gerard relents, dressing hastily, but then already in the doorway, he hesitates. He has no idea what to do, not after only two weeks of living together. He should probably get out and leave Sergio alone, but somehow it doesn’t feel right.

“Wanna talk about it?” he offers, still lingering in the doorway.

Sergio shrugs. “Not really.”

“Sergio ...”

“Fine, whatever,” Sergio leans back a little and closes his eyes, takes a deep steadying breath before he looks up again. “I’m just worried about Cris … .after your dumb tackle … i never found out how bad his injury is …, when i left he was still with the doctors and then i woke up here …. and i should have stayed with him ….”

Gerard suddenly feels incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he offers meekly, but somehow it feels empty, after two weeks he had almost forgotten about it.

“God, I know you didn’t mean too,” Sergio sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “It’s just … there was this article in Marca … and it reminded me again ... i didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s fine,” Gerard sits down next to him, deliberately putting a safe distance between them. He contemplates putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but decides against it. He has no clue how to handle Sergio like this. He’s never seen him this upset, this vulnerable. “I’m sure Cris is fine. He’s tougher than all of us.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sergio fiddles with his hands, still looking utterly devastated. “I still feel like shit. I wish i wasn’t here, i wish i could just call him and ask him. He’s my friend and i just abandoned him.”

“You didn’t abandon him, it wasn’t your choice,” Gerard says vehemently but Sergio only seems to deflate more.

“I just feel so helpless. I wish i could be there for him, but i can’t and i fucking hate it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I can’t help it,” Sergio rubs his face. “This sucks. I wish i was at home.”

Gerard doesn’t really know what to say to that. It’s been two weeks since they’ve woken up next to each other and he knows exactly how Sergio feels. He misses his friends and family too. He has however no idea what to say to make Sergio feel better or any idea how to get back to their own reality.

“How about we cheat on our diet a little and have some ice cream? There’s some vanilla left in the freezer and i think we deserve a treat,” Gerard suggests with a grin, letting out a relieved sigh when Sergio nods in agreement.

 

“Your friends are lucky to have you,” Gerard says later, when they’re sprawled out on their bed, football match on tv and a container of ice cream between them.

“You're my friend too,” Sergio says offhandedly and licks his spoon clean.

Gerard looks away and really hopes he’s not blushing, at least not visibly.

*

It’s subtle at first, Gerard doesn’t notice something is off until he steps into the empty kitchen, Sergio’s coffee mug suspiciously missing from its usual place in the cupboard. 

They always have breakfast together, it’s something of a tradition by now. Gerard cooks, Sergio reads him the most relevant parts of Marca, they mock each other mercilessly and then they drive to training together, but today the kitchen is eerily quiet and Sergio is nowhere to be found.

He eventually finds him on the porch, curled on one of the benches, ears covered with headphones and eyes closed. There’s a part of him that wants to ask Sergio what’s wrong, but he decides against it, trudges back to the kitchen and makes himself a sandwich. 

When they’re in the car and Sergio doesn’t complain about the music even once, Gerard knows something must be wrong.

“What’s up with you today?” he asks, eyes fixed on the road.

“Nothing.” Sergio sounds tired.

“I don’t believe you.”

 

Sergio shrugs. “Not my problem.” He turns away from Gerard and stares out the window.

Gerard doesn’t manage to get another word out of him after that.

 

They’re already at the hotel, in the middle of a team meeting and Gerard is staring at the possible line up of their opponent when it suddenly dawns on him. They’re going to play Real Madrid in only a couple of hours. At the Bernabéu.

He suddenly feels like the worst friend in the world.

 

He’s is one of the last people left in the dressing room, most of their teammates are already in the tunnel and he’s almost not expecting it anymore, when Sergio taps him on the shoulder, turns his head to the side and gives him a quick kiss.

“Good luck,” he whispers and then he’s gone again, out the door to take his place in the starting lineup.

Gerard stares at the door, after Sergio and feels strangely cheated. The kiss had become somewhat of a ritual for them, something they would do just before going out before a match, for reassurance, for good luck. They’d kiss and hug and then they’d go out down the tunnel together, ready to face whatever the game threw at them. Today however Sergio had seemed distant, he barely grazed the corner of his mouth with his lips and Gerard misses Sergio’s smile.

*

It’s hell, stepping onto the pitch of the Bernabéu in anything but pure white. The red stripes suddenly seem to weigh twice as much and only Gerard’s heavy hand on his shoulder keeps him from hyperventilating.

He gets whistled every time his foot touches the ball and every missed chance gets cheered by the whole stadium. He hates it and it gnaws at him, but it also makes him angry beyond belief, it makes him want to hurt them right back, makes him want to punish them for all the times they’ve whistled their own players and he couldn’t do anything about it.

His first goal comes in the 53rd minute. It’s not particularly spectacular, just an easy header after a perfect corner kick from Koke, nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times before, but Gerard is the first there to celebrate with him, pulling him into a crushing hug and tugging his face into the crook of his neck as he whispers “Don’t let them get to you. Show them what you’re made off.” and then he’s gone again, jogging down the field into position as they wait for kick off and Sergio realizes with a jolt that Gerard knows better than anyone what he’s going through. 

He almost welcomes the whistles after that. He soaks them up and let’s them drive him forward, let’s them power him.

He ends up scoring a hattrick. 

He walks off the pitch, with the ball under his arm and his shoulders squared proudly, the Bernabeu behind him in tears.

*  
“We need to celebrate,” Gerard declares outside the stadium, before they’re even fully inside the car yet. 

And because Sergio is too tired to refuse, he finds himself at an ice cream parlor half an hour later with a giant bowl of vanilla ice cream sitting in front of him.

“You’re messing with my diet again,” he grumbles but his spoon is already halfway to his mouth and dripping with ice cream and chocolate sauce.

“Someone has to feed you,” Gerard mutters.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, just eat your damn ice cream.”

“Fine,” Sergio relents and uses his spoon to fend off Gerard who’s invading his space trying to steal some of his precious chocolate sauce. “Go away,” he laughs and almost misses his mouth, half of the ice cream already melting and dripping into his beard.

Gerard rolls his eyes and uses his napkin to wipe at the corner of Sergio’s mouth. He grins at the other’s indignant expression. “Promise me, you’ll talk to me the next time you’re upset?” 

“I wasn’t upset.”

“Don’t even try that with me,” Gerard smoothes his napkin out on the table. “You were sulking all week.” 

Sergio shrugs. “I just had a lot to think about.”

“Yeah i noticed,” Gerard frowns. “It’s not healthy. You need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Sergio says petulantly. “I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t, but….”

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Sergio says irritatedly. “Is that so hard to understand?”

“Jesus,” Gerard groans. “You’re the most infuriating person i know.”

“I’m not.”

God, just..,” Gerard rubs his face tiredly. “All i’m trying to say is, if you ever want to talk. I’m here.”

For a while Sergio just looks at him, thoughtful expression on his face before he reaches forward and takes the last of their cookies, breaks it in two and puts the other half on Gerard’s plate. Gerard takes it as an unspoken peace offering.

 

“You ready for the gala next week?” Gerard asks, using the cookie to soak up the last remnants of his ice cream.

“I guess so,” Sergio nods. “You think i have a chance?” he leans back in his chair and watches Gerard.

“No idea.”

“You could come watch me win. I still don’t have a plus one,” Sergio grins brightly.

Gerard laughs. “The press would have a field day.” 

It hadn’t taken them long to figure out that while their teammates knew about them, the rest of the world didn’t. 

“Too bad really. I already had the perfect ball gown picked out for you.”

“No way,” Gerard snorts with laughter. “You’d look much prettier in a dress.”

*

“What are you still doing in there?” Gerard asks, appearing behind Sergio in their walk-in closet. “We should have left for training ten minutes ago.”

Sergio sighs. “I have to pick out an outfit for the Ballon d’Or gala tonight.”

“Right, i had almost forgotten.” Gerard says, eyeing the suit Sergio is currently holding up. It’s green and shiny and it makes his head hurt. He shakes his head vehemently. “Definitely not this one,” he says and wrenches the hanger from Sergio’s hand. 

“But….” 

He expertly ignores the pout and the puppy eyes and starts rifling through the various suits lined up neatly on the clothes rail.

“Who even needs so many suits?” he grumbles, but his eyes have already settled on a sleek black suit. Trying to spare himself the whining he knows is about to come, he selects a purple tie and matching handkerchief and thrusts the whole ensemble into Sergio’s arms.

“Here. Can we go now?”

Sergio nods, too stunned to object.

 

The flight is shorter then expected, the trip to the hotel hurried. He gets rushed through the photoshoot and more interviews than he can count and then he’s finally in the quiet of his room with two hours to go until the gala. 

He puts on his suit and styles his hair and after a quick glance into the mirror he grudgingly has to admit that Gerard has surprisingly good taste, not that he’s ever going to admit that anyone.

The ceremony is needlessly long and awfully boring and he’s never particularly liked attending them, but this one seems especially tiresome. In a desperate attempt not to fall asleep, he lets his gaze wander around the room, across the rows of people, studying bored expressions and ridiculous outfits. He almost snorts out lot, when his eyes rest on the most garish suit he has ever seen. Bright green with red stripes and what was the person even thinking? He makes a mental note to tell Gerard later, wishes not for the first time that night that he was with him, that he had someone next to him to make this whole production feel a little less tedious. 

By the time they finally announce the winner and he makes his way towards the stage, the list of thing he has to tell Gerard is so long he should have probably taken notes.

He accepts the award with a bright smile, shakes a lot of hands and kisses even more cheeks and then he’s suddenly in front of the microphone with no idea of what to say. And it’s never been more evident that he’s a complete stranger in his own life.

He gives the most generic speech ever, all the while trying to quell the rising anger in his chest that all it took was for him to turn into a striker to win the one trophy he could never manage to win as a defender.

And it’s only the congratulatory text from Gerard waiting on his phone that makes the blinding rage that is burning in the pitch of his stomach finally subside.

*

The next day in training Sergio presents his award to the rest of the team. Gerard is right by his side, looking oddly proud and it feels surprisingly good to be surrounded by people who are genuinely happy for him even if they are not his real teammates.

And he’s so happy, so proud of his accomplishments that he almost doesn’t notice the blank stares of everyone when Gerard makes a joke about him dropping the award. And maybe they’ve gotten a little too comfortable in their new life.

*

“I think it’s time we figure out how to get back to our reality.” Gerard tosses his keys onto the table in the hallway and marches towards the kitchen, Sergio trailing closely behind.

“Any ideas?” Sergio hops onto the counter and dangles his feet. There’s a banana lying on the shelf to his right and he stretches to grab it, but it’s just that tiny bit out of reach that he can’t reach it, so he keeps inching forward, arm stretched out.

Gerard takes the fruit and hands it to him before he can fall off the counter.

“Thanks,” Sergio peels the banana and looks up at Gerard. “So?”

Gerard watches him wrap his lips around it and loses his train of thought completely, his eyes fixed on Sergio’s mouth.

“What are you staring at?” Sergio mumbles, thankfully utterly oblivious to his less than appropriate thoughts.

Gerard’s cheeks turn crimson. “Nothing,” his throat moves as he swallows.

Sergio rolls his eyes and tugs the peel farther down. “I’m all ears.”

“I thought you would know what to do,” Gerard shrugs.

“Why am i suddenly the expert on alternate realities?”

“I’m not the one who watches teen movies in their free time.”

“Whatever,” Sergio takes another bite out of the banana and chews angrily. “I’ve tried everything i could think of. To be honest I was hoping we would have switched back by now.”

“There must be something. We can’t be stuck here for the rest of our lives,” Gerard says irritatedly. “You need to think harder.”

Sergio hesitates. “If i knew a way out of this i would have told you,” he says unconvincingly. 

“Just spit it out. Don’t make me watch your stupid movies,” Gerard says harshly, patience waning.

“I…,” he tosses the half eaten banana into the sink, suddenly not in the mood for food anymore. “Sometimes in the movies they have to kiss to switch back,” he says quietly.

Gerard snorts. “We kiss about twice a week and we’re still here.”

“Not like that,” Sergio is pretty sure his cheeks are scarlet by now. “A real kiss.”

“So?” Gerard shrugs. “We might as well try.”

Sergio gulps. “I don’t think it’s gonna work for us.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Gerard asks. “Why are you so afraid all of sudden.” He bites back a smile when Sergio slides off the counter, a determined glint in his eyes.

“I’m not,” he declares and stalks towards Gerard, threading his fingers into his hair before he kisses him angrily. Their teeth clack, but he ignores Gerard’s grunt of protest and shoves his tongue into his mouth. The kiss is bruising, Sergio’s mouth unrelenting and forceful, until Gerard’s arms wind around Sergio’s waist, pulling him close. He rubs his thumb over the soft skin just under the hem of Sergio’s shirt and Sergio melts into him almost instantly, his lips becoming soft and pliant as he lets Gerard take charge of the kiss.

When they eventually pull apart, they’re both breathing heavily. Sergio licks his lips and looks around. They’re still in the wrong house.

“Shit,” he groans, still a little daze from the aftereffects of the kiss.

Gerard frowns. “Guess, that didn’t work.”

“Yeah.” Sergio tugs on his bottom lip that still feels swollen, the skin raw to the touch. “That was …,” he stares at Gerard for a while, studying him thoughtfully. “You really need to shave,” he says eventually, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Really,” Gerard laughs in surprise. “That’s what you’re gonna focus on now?”

“What else am i supposed to do?”

“No idea,” Gerard smirks. “But you’re hardly one to talk.”

“Fine,” Sergio throws his hands up. “Then we’ll both shave.”

“I’m not getting rid of my beard for you.”

“Don’t get so testy,” Sergio chuckles. “I’m not asking you to. Just maybe trim it a little, it’s getting out of hand. You look like a freaking mountain man.”

“I don’t,” Gerard rolls his eyes, “but fine, come on then.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Sergio pouts. “But...,.,” 

“No, buts..,” Gerard grabs him by the arm and drags him along, up the stairs. “You suggested it, now you’ll have to go through with it.”

“I hate you,” Sergio grumbles, but follows him to the bathroom anyway.

 

He leans against the sink and watches Gerard untangle the cable of his razor and plug it in. “You know, you should really shave your neck more, it looks unkempt if you don’t,” he lectures and ducks down just in time to avoid the washcloth that Gerard throws his way. It smacks wetly against the wall, leaves behind a damp trail as it slides down to the floor. 

“Very mature,” he laughs and reaches for his own razor.

 

They’re in the middle of shaving when Gerard suddenly pauses and looks over.

“You’re not gonna do anything weird with it, are you?”

“Like what?”

“Like shave half the sides off and leave the rest.”

“I liked that style,” Sergio says indignantly, stopping abruptly to glare at Gerard. “It looked good.”

“It really didn’t,” Gerard deadpans and unplugs his razor before he takes one last glance into the mirror to inspect his handiwork.

“You missed a spot there,” Sergio says gleefully, and pokes at Gerard’s cheek.

“I didn’t.” Gerard turns to inspect the place Sergio pointed to and _fuck_ , he really missed a spot.

Sergio chuckles to himself while Gerard shaves off the traitorous hair. He leans back and watches Sergio fumble with the settings of his razor, realizing with a not entirely pleasant feeling that he really doesn’t want Sergio to change his look all that much.

He reaches for Sergio’s hand and pries the device out of his fingers before he can do any real damage. “Let me do it.”

Sergio squirms and protests but in the end he lets himself be maneuvered to the bathtub and sits down on the edge, tilting his head a little to give Gerard better access. “You better be careful.” 

But instead of turning on the razor, Gerard lets it drop onto the ground and sinks down next to Sergio. There are a million thoughts whirling in his head and he can’t seem to get a hold of any of them.

“Why’d you stop?” Sergio asks, oblivious to the sudden turmoil going on inside of him.

“You look fine.”

Sergio gasps, a triumphant grin spreading on his face. “Is that actually a compliment?”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Gerard shrugs, expression serious as he twists to look at the man next to him. “Don’t you think it’s time we admit that we’re stuck here?”

“What are you talking about?” Sergio blinks, utterly caught off guard by the sudden change of topic.

“Look,” Gerard rubs his beard tiredly. “We’ve tried everything we could think of, we’ve been here for months. Nothing seems to work. Maybe we should just make peace with the fact that we’ll never get back to our reality.”

“I’m….,” but there’s really nothing he could say with his mind still scrambling to process. 

 

“Sergio?” Gerard asks after they’ve been silent for so long, his back is starting to hurt from their awkward sitting position on the edge of the tub.

“I should probably get my own place then,” Sergio says.

“What are you talking about?”

“Wasn’t this always just temporary?” Sergio waves his arms around vaguely. “We’ve only put up with it because we thought we were going to switch back any moment. Now ..., well there really is no need for it anymore, is there?”

“Sure, but what about the team? What are we gonna tell them?” Gerard asks.

Sergio shrugs. “We’ll just tell them we broke up. It happens.”

“Are you sure that’s wise though. Shouldn’t we stick together? We’re still new in this world.”

“That’s what the internet is for,” Sergio laughs and pulls Gerard to his feet. “Come on, let’s make dinner. I’m hungry.”

Gerard snorts. “You mean, i’m going to cook for you, while you sit around and do nothing.”

“I could always make something for myself.”

“God, no.”

Sergio sticks his tongue out and bounces down the staircase.

“You’re five years old,” Gerard groans, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips and he’d rather not explore why the thought of Sergio moving out makes his chest feel so tight. He’d much rather focus on how nice it’s going to be when the other man won’t always be around anymore to annoy him. He’s heard enough flamenco to last for an entire lifetime.

 

Gerard knows he should pay more attention to the football game on tv, to study their next opponent, but it’s so ridiculously boring he can’t keep his attention on the screen for longer than five minutes. Instead, his eyes keep straying to Sergio who’s curled up in one of the armchairs, crouched over his laptop with a frown creasing his brows.

Gerard smiles softly. “You’re gonna give yourself a bad back if you keep sitting like this.”

Sergio flips him off without looking up.

“What are you even doing?”

“Looking for houses.”

“Already?” Gerard moves over and settles on the armrest of Sergio’s chair.

“What’s the point of putting it off?” Sergio asks.

“Why are you the one moving out though?”

“I don’t know, this just feels more like your house,” Sergio says.”I still think having only one bedroom is stupid.”

Gerard laughs almost against his will. “This feels like a bad divorce.”

“As long as you’re not gonna fighting me over the silverware,” Sergio grins.”

“You can have whatever you want, as long as you take your damn music with you.”

Sergio shoves him with his elbow, cackling evilly when Gerard almost falls off the armrest.

“I’m taking custody of the dog,” Gerard smirks.

“We don’t have a dog.”

“Guess, we’ll just have to get one then.”

“You really want a dog?” Sergio looks up at him with wide hopeful eyes.

“Weren’t you going to move out?” 

“Right,” Sergio mumbles and his mood suddenly seems strangely subdued, or maybe Gerard is just projecting. He’s not really sure anymore.

“Found anything good yet?” Gerard asks, if only to distract himself from the sudden knot in his stomach.

“A couple.”

“Show me.”

Gerard barely manages to stifle his laughter at Sergio’s definition of “a couple”. There are at least twenty different house offerings open on his laptop, all varying in their degree of horribleness, but before Gerard can even say anything, Sergio has already discarded four for lack of bedrooms, three more because there was no pool and another one because it was facing the sun the wrong way. Gerard wisely enough bites his tongue on this one and eliminates six more from the list instead - ugly interior, bad location, not enough outdoor space. They endlessly bicker over another house that would be almost perfect if it wasn’t for the tacky columns in the front yard, but it ends up in the recycling bin just like all the other ones.

When they finally reach the last one, Gerard is exhausted, but unfortunately Sergio seems to have saved the worst for last.

“This is my favorite,” he declares with a happy smile on his face and Gerard wants to barf. He’s never in his life seen a more horrible house. It looks like a nightmare straight from the eighties.

“It’s so green,” he says in horror. “Everything in that house is green.”

“I like it.”

“You’re not buying it.”

“I’m not?”

“No!” and Gerard doesn’t know how he does it but somehow he actually convinces Sergio not to buy that green atrocity of a house.

Sergio closes the laptop with a resigned sigh, “What now?”

Gerard smirks. “Now you’re gonna stop being an idiot and stay here.”

*

In a way it feels almost anticlimactic to play against Barcelona without the added insanity of el clasico. He hasn’t had a normal game against them since he was in his teens and it almost feels like something is missing, yet he still feels the excitement of a big game bristling in his veins while they wait in the tunnel.

He glances over at Gerard, in fact he’s been a little worried about him the entire week, but he looks surprisingly calm for someone who’s about to play against the club of his life and he knows Gerard isn’t just pretending. They’ve talked about it at length over the last few days, an actual serious conversation in which Gerard had insisted more than once that he made his peace with his new life and Sergio has no reason not to trust him. 

They’ve gotten closer since they accepted their fate. It almost feels like there is a new respect between them that hasn’t been there before.

The referee’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he winks at Gerard before they make their way onto the field.

The game is mostly unremarkable, Sergio scores their only goal and in the end they come away with a draw that neither hurts nor helps them much in the long run.

 

He’s already halfway off the field when he spots Gerard talking to Jordi and Cesc. It’s not unusual for players to talk to opponents after games, off the pitch they are all more colleagues than rivals, but what throws him off is how friendly their exchange is. 

He stops in his tracks and watches them more closely, suddenly Gerard is laughing at something Jordi is saying and it’s almost like they’re old friends instead of just acquaintances. Cesc’s hand is clasped tightly around Gerard’s arms and they’re so close, he’s almost leaning against the taller man and something bitter and angry suddenly twists in Sergio’s gut at the intimate sight.

Beyond irritated with himself, he hurries towards the dressing room and a hot shower, but no matter how hard he tries to shake the annoying feeling, the trace jealousy stays with him all the way home.

*

Sergio gets injured five days before international break and he doesn’t even know how it happened. One moment they’re kicking the ball around in training, the next he’s lying on the ground with his ankle throbbing in excruciating pain. A hospital visit later he’s sitting at home on the sofa with a brace around his leg and the strict instructions not to strain his leg for the next two week, his crutches taunting him from afar.

He’s still in a sour mood when Gerard comes home later and even his favorite meal and the promise of a flamenco show don’t manage to lift his spirits. It’s irrational, he knows, but he can’t help it. He’s always loved playing for the national team, but now stuck in a universe where he plays for the wrong side of town, the familiar red of la roja has become even more of a safe haven for him.

For the first few days Gerard tries to cheer him up, but nothing seems to work and eventually, if only resignedly, he gives up and goes back to his normal routine, leaving Sergio at home to sulk.

 

It’s the first day of international break and Sergio is in an even worse mood than usual. In a few hours Gerard will leave and he’s going to be alone for the next week. He’s dozing on the sofa, trying to pretend that this entire day isn’t happening when a commotion at the front door wakes him from his nap. There’s banging and scraping and and awful lot of noise in general, Gerard’s insistent voice in the middle of it all and then...Wait? Was that a bark? 

He sits up straight and stares at the door in a mixture of fear and anticipation and when Gerard finally appears in the living room, he doesn’t know whether he should laugh or squeal with joy because Gerard is holding the tiniest most adorable little puppy in his arms.

“Is this what i think it is?” he asks, barely trusting his own voice as he scrambles off the sofa and towards Gerard.

“Meet our new dog,” Gerard says with a soft smile, handing the fluffy bundle over to Sergio, who immediately cuddles him against his chest, cooing softly as he pets him gently.

“What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one yet.”

“Can i pick one,” Sergio asks excitedly.

“Sure,” Gerard laughs. “How about Leo?”

Sergio scrunches his nose. “I’m not naming my dog after Messi.”

“Our dog.”

“Whatever,” Sergio waves him off. “We might as well just name him Cristiano.”

“No.”

“See.” 

Suddenly there’s a bright smile on Sergio’s face, one that makes Gerard feel very uneasy.

“I have the perfect name,” Sergio exclaims, jostling the dog in his arms, but the puppy just barks happily and presses tighter against Sergio’s chest.

Gerard highly doubts he’s going to like what’s going to come next.

“We should name him Zlatan.”

Gerard shudders, but Sergio is looking at him with puppy eyes and the dog is looking at him with even more puppy eyes and sometimes the only choice really is to give up.

“Fine,” he concedes and he definitely doesn’t feel a flutter in his chest when Sergio beams at him.

“You better take Zlatan for a walk before he pees on the carpet,” he scowls, desperate to quell the sudden, unwanted rush of affection in his heart.

 

Sergio spends the rest of the afternoon ordering anything a dog could possibly need and also a lot of things a dog definitely doesn’t need and for the first time in over a week he feels truly happy again.

When he says goodbye to Gerard later his face hurts from smiling so much. They hug at the front door of their house, the little dog running happily around their feet and maybe it’s the excitement of the day or the gratitude towards Gerard for cheering him up, but when they eventually pull apart he leans in and presses his lips to Gerard’s. 

He freezes in shock, as surprised at his own actions as Gerard must surely feel, but then the taller man kisses him back, pulling him into his arms as he deepens the kiss.

When they pull apart just a heartbeat later, they’re both flustered.

“I gotta go,” Gerard mumbles and hurries towards his car.

Sergio stares after him for a long time, lips still tingling and he only pulls out of his trance when Zlatan starts yapping impatiently at his feet.

 

Sergio spends most of international break working on strengthening his knee and obsessing over the kiss. It plays over and over in his mind every time he closes his eyes and after three almost sleepless nights he’s almost ready to admit to himself that maybe he likes Gerard as more than a friend. 

He anxiously watches the first qualifying match of the national team, biting his fingernails in despair until Gerard finally scores the winning goal. When he finds himself still grinning at the tv like a lovesick fool minutes later, there’s really no denying his feelings anymore.

 

The days until Gerard’s return drag endlessly, but when the time finally comes Sergio isn’t so sure he wants to face him anymore, his stomach tied in knots.

He’s halfway down the stairs when the front door suddenly opens and Gerard is standing right in front of him.

They stare at each other for the longest time, until they both start laughing.

“This is stupid,” Sergio grins and bounds down the stairs the rest of the way.

Gerard shakes his head, but he’s grinning too. “I can’t believe i actually missed you.”

“You could have called.”

“The last time i checked you had a phone too,” Gerard snorts.

Sergio rolls his eyes and pinches him playfully. “Wise-ass.”

“Wanna tell me why you decided to kiss me last week?” Gerard tugs Sergio closer until they’re only inches apart.

“You kissed me back,” Sergio says defiantly, staring up at him with dark eyes.

“Sergio!” 

“Ugh. What? Isn’t it obvious?” There’s a faint blush staining his cheeks. “I like you.”

Gerard grins and pulls him even closer, arms winding around Sergio’s waist, “Good, because i like you too.”

“This is crazy,” Sergio mumbles. “We used to hate each other.”

Gerard chuckles. “I don’t think we ever really hated each other.”

“I hate you a little right now,” Sergio laughs shakily, his hands sneaking under the hem of Gerard’s shirt and caressing the soft skin at the small of his back.

“No you don’t,” Gerard threads his fingers into Sergio’s hair, tilting his head back and Sergio’s eyes flutter closed almost immediately, his mouth parted in a silent invitation.

They pant against each other’s lips, breath already ragged and then finally Gerard kisses him, hungrily devouring him with his skillful tongue and Sergio is just as ravenous, fingers tugging impatiently at Gerard’s clothes. They stumble to the bedroom, tugging off their shirts and shedding their pants and they’re already naked when they finally make it inside, Sergio dropping to his knees, lips wrapped around Gerard’s throbbing erection and they don’t bother to be quiet, loud lustful moans echoing through the room as Gerard spreads Sergio out on the bed and sinks into him.

It’s rough and frantic and so so good and Sergio comes way too quickly, pours all over his stomach as Gerard’s name spills from his lips in a breathless plea. But it’s ok because Gerard comes just as quickly, follows him into oblivion with a satisfied grunt.

They fall into the sheets tiredly, still smiling as they kiss, their bodies slowly growing heavy with sleep.

\----

When Sergio wakes up the first thing he notices is that the bed next to him is empty. He rolls over but there isn’t even an indentation, the mattress cold to the touch. He blinks his eyes open, ready to call out for Gerard, but the angle of the sunlight is off and nothing feels right.

The walls suddenly are a strange shade of green, the tv is in the wrong place and Gerard’s pretentious economy books are nowhere to be seen and it takes him entirely too long to realize that he’s back in his old bedroom. He’s back in his own home, in his own life and he should be ecstatic but instead there’s a giant hole in his chest.

He heaves himself out of bed and because it’s just any other Tuesday, he gets into his car, drives to training and successfully ignores the fact that he misses his turn more than once, forces a smile as he makes senseless small talk with teammates that suddenly don’t feel that much like friends anymore, all the while scrambling to stay in his position all through training. But most of all he pretends that he doesn’t miss Gerard like crazy, that he doesn’t have to constantly fight the urge to reach for his phone and text him.

After being away for months, everything feels off and by the time he gets home, he can barely keep his eyes open. He falls on the sofa and flips through the channels, eyes mindlessly fixed on the flickering images until the commercials fade and his heart clenches painfully at the familiar melody of Gerard’s favorite tv show. With a heavy sigh, he fumbles for his phone, the unfamiliar wallpaper almost taunting him as he stares at his contact list and he has to scroll for far too long, the name not at all in a place where it belongs. At the top of the list. And that’s when he finally gives in and allows himself to ache for a person he was never supposed to get this close to.

He hits dial before he can change his mind, blurts out the question without giving Gerard any time to speak. “Are you back?”

“Sergio,” Gerard whispers and there’s a softness to his voice that makes Sergio’s heart pound. “I am.”

“Good.” 

“How was your day?”

“Fine, i guess,” Sergio shrugs. “Weird. Defending is boring.”

Gerard laughs heartily. “Are you happy you’re back?”

“I don’t know,” Sergio sighs and lets himself sink further into the cushions, feet coming up to rest on the coffee table. “Everything feels strange. We’ve been gone too long.”

“Why didn’t you call sooner?”

Sergio laughs. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Sergio!”

“What?”

“Are we just gonna pretend that last night didn’t happen?”

Sergio sits up abruptly. “You remember?”

“Of course, i do. You remember too, right? So why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh.”

 

Gerard laughs. “God, you’re so damn slow sometimes.”

“Whatever,” Sergio huffs, but turns serious quickly. “Do you regret it?” 

“Only that we didn’t do it sooner,” Gerard chuckles. “You look good underneath me.”

Sergio groans. “Not fair.”

“Not my fault,” Gerard teases. “You asked.”

“Ugh, i can’t believe i actually miss you.”

“Yeah well. I miss you, too.”

Sergio scrambles off the sofa, blindly reaching for his car keys and pulling on a pair of shoes. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says hastily. “I’m coming over.”

Six hours later he arrives in Barcelona. Fifteen minutes after that they’re naked in Gerard’s bed.

 

When Sergio wakes up the next time it’s with a happy smile on his lips, his muscles pleasantly sore as he stretches in the sheets and he’s about to let himself drift back to sleep when he feels something wet on his feet.

He jolts upright, face scrunched in disgust. “Eww.”

“What?” Gerard’s sleepy face suddenly appears in his field of vision.

Sergio frowns. “Wait? If you’re up here who is licking my toes?”

Gerard laughs and lifts up the blanket and Sergio stares in wonder at Zlatan looking up at them.

“What is he doing here?”

Gerard shrugs. “No clue. Found him asleep at the foot of my bed this morning. Guess he somehow came with us.”

“I’m glad,” Sergio grins and leans up to kiss Gerard. “Everything is finally how it should be.”

Gerard chuckles softly. “You haven’t checked the date yet, have you?”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow is el clasico.”

Sergio drops into the sheets with a groan. “Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe Serard Week is already over. Thank you so much to everyone who gave kudos or left a comment. All the positive feedback and encouragement really means a lot to me.  
> And a very very special thank you goes to londonbird who had to listen to me worry about not being able to finish all 7 fics in time for the last 5 months and who helped me out so many times when i was stuck and didn't know how to continue. This really wouldn't have been possible without your help and support. :-*


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